


To pay a crown

by rosemeister



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, this ones mainly just soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21803515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosemeister/pseuds/rosemeister
Summary: Years after the war ends, Edelgard prepares for a quiet retirement with Dorothea.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 12
Kudos: 132





	To pay a crown

**Author's Note:**

> *Run away with me sax plays*

For as long as she has been dreaming of this moment, of leaving the throne and all the burdens it carries with it, it still feels painfully slow while she is in the midst of it. A thousand pages of paperwork, endless hours of meetings and arguments that drag on ceaselessly, it almost makes Edelgard regret her choice of freedom, if this is the price she must pay for it.

It takes two years from the time she first brings up her decision to her inner circle, and a year from when the first announcement is given to the people. The first year seemed the worst, full of arguing over minutiae with Hubert, politics with Ferdinand, and reforms with Lysithea. As irritating as the experience is, and as stubborn as each of her ministers may be, she is still quietly pleased to note how dedicated each one is to their role. Fódlan will be in good hands, she knows.

The next year is worse. It’s full of people visiting her court trying to curry favour, to insert themselves into what they perceive as a power vacuum waiting to happen. By the third visit by a noble who spends over an hour expressing just how distraught the news of her upcoming absence has made him, she can barely stomach another. But they keep coming, one after the other, each one believing that she will restore to them the power her own reforms have stolen from their hands.

The tide is changing, after all. Slowly, piece by piece, but it changes still. Edelgard is just unfortunate enough to be drowned in the flotsam of the shifting tide.

Dorothea keeps her sane through it all.

“It’s only a few more months.” She tells her, every morning. “A few more months of this and then no more, not ever. Surely, it’s worth it, for you to be free?”

“We’ll both be free.” Edelgard reminds her. She reminds her this again and again, every morning, and every time Dorothea returns to her with another story of a patron at the opera with no manners.

Somehow Edelgard already knows that they’ll continue to remind each other of that simple fact, again and again, even once they’ve ran away to a town that doesn’t know their names. Some things change, some never can. But some constants are a comfort. This one she doesn’t mind repeating.

Dorothea pulls a brush through her hair slowly, twists it into her usual hairstyle. There’s brown coming in at the roots now, more and more with each passing month. It’s a strange comfort that. Edelgard has spent most of her life with her hair bleached white, a reminder of every second she spent underground staring at her every time she looks in a mirror. It’s disconcerting for that to change. But it’s one sacrifice she’s more than willing to make.

“I wish you’d let me do something else with your hair.” Dorothea sighs. “It feels like you’ve only ever had two hairstyles in your entire life. Where’s the fun in that?”

“When we leave you can do whatever you’d like to it.” Edelgard promises. Dorothea laughs in response, for so long that Edelgard is almost terrified of what she might have planned.

“How about pigtails?” She suggests. Edelgard grimaces, but that only seems to spur Dorothea on, and she moves to place both of her hands on Edelgard’s shoulders, rooting her in place while she thinks. “Or we could dye it. I’m sure Petra would send over something to help with that, if we asked.”

Edelgard leans in, breaks off Dorothea’s scheming with a kiss. “Why must you tease me like this?”

Dorothea laughs again. But this time its softer, more real. “Someone has to keep the mighty Edelgard humble. It’s a tough calling, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m sure.”

But mornings never last, and soon enough the rising sun has them spin in different directions. Politics for Edelgard, and the opera for Dorothea, performing in what her audience does not even know is her last few shows as it’s star. Dorothea had always insisted on keeping her upcoming retirement a secret, to be revealed only once she was already gone. The gossip it would spark would be monumental, Edelgard thinks.

She’ll be glad to miss that, at least. There has already been too much gossip surrounding the two of them, running from well before their relationship even started. And as much as Edelgard would like to blame boredom and restless minds for much of it, she herself is at least partially to blame.

It’s one thing for the Emperor to own a private balcony at the opera. Quite another for her to use it at every practical opportunity, to be seen visiting Mittelfrank’s young star more frequently still.

Without a war to capture the public’s attention, it's little wonder rumours spread.

* * *

A few months before they plan to leave, The Mttelfrank Opera goes on tour, circling around the continent before returning to Enbarr for a show that already has half the city in a fervour, driven mad by the rumours that it will be one of the company’s very best performances. Edelgard is half convinced the rumours could all be traced back to Dorothea herself, and her unmatched flair for dramatics.

The tour was Dorothea’s idea, she’s told. One last hurrah before she disappears from the stage forever, into smoky rumours and the thin echo of written records. Edelgard had encouraged her, when she had first brokered the idea, told her to use it as a chance to remember everything she loved about performing, to put aside the stresses of the present and the uncertainties of the future.

But now, with Dorothea a week gone, selfishness grips her heart. Has her regret all the time she burnt away working while Dorothea was only half a city away. It had always seemed like the smart choice at the time, when Edelgard belonged only slightly to herself, and more to her ideals, her country. When she was more Emperor than woman, chained by titles and crowns. It’s only now that she can really recognise that, now that she is so close to shrugging off the mantle of responsibility that has burdened her for as long as she can remember.

Dorothea makes up for the distance with her letters. She has always had a talent for words, and even written her charm soaks through every word. They are beautiful things, full of dancing words and intricate subtleties, things that cut through Edelgard’s mind and settle in her soul, lingering there long after the letter has been folded back up and put away.

She describes the people she meets, the landscapes. The stories she listens to, the songs she hears in taverns, sung loud enough to be felt in her very bones. Once she includes a pressed flower, a common violet that she says reminds her of Edelgard herself. Edelgard keeps that on her writing desk, looks at it for strength every time she feels like she is at her wits end.

There are other gifts too, small but thoughtful. A bracelet from Brigid, a bottle of wine from Derdriu. There’s even a large seashell once, from a small town by the sea. _You should see it, Edie._ Dorothea writes, in that letter. _The fields here are full of wildflowers, and the sea is beyond words. Maybe we should visit in spring sometime, when everything is in flower?_

Everything Edelgard writes in response feels so stilted in comparison. Her days are a dreary monotony of work, of meetings and endless drafts of legislation, and little of it she wants to burden Dorothea with. And writing anything more emotional than legislation is a strain. It’s embarrassing enough to explain her emotions aloud, writing them down in something as permanent as a letter is mortifying. But sending Dorothea a reply so lifeless and dry is unthinkable.

Instead, she starts slipping in sketches that explain how she feels much better than words could. She visits Bernadetta one week, and remembers clear enough to draw later how peaceful she had seemed in her greenhouse tending to her plants. The moment was lost as soon as Edelgard has spoken, but she freezes that moment forever on paper. She catches a moment of everyone still in the capital, describing the quiet peace their lives have become better than words could. Ferdinand brushing the mane of his horse before a meeting, entirely lost to the world. Hubert with his early morning cup of coffee, his lips almost bending into a smile as he raises it. Lysithea, explaining her newest proposal, her face entirely serious as her hand sneaks towards a plate of sweets. It’s entirely mundane, entirely impossible for Edelgard to capture with her plain words.

One week, when Dorothea has been gone entirely too long, when Edelgard is reminded every morning of just how empty her bed is without her, and she misses the sound of Dorothea humming under her breath as she pulls a brush through Edelgard’s hair, she slips in the most embarrassing drawing yet. One of a woman in a red dress, eyes closed but hand outstretched, her lips caught in an endless silent song.

 _I’ve heard you sing many times,_ Edelgard writes in explanation, _in private and on stage. But I still remember how it felt to hear you perform that first time. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it._

She sends that letter before she can think to regret it. And she does, almost immediately. It’s too naked, cuts far too close to the truth. But it’s worth it when she receives Dorothea’s response, a short note attached to a rose.

 _We will return by tonight,_ it reads. _Hold on, my Emperor._

* * *

Dorothea’s final performance is bittersweet. It hangs in the air, mixes with each note. Edelgard is here for this one, intent on committing it to memory. But this time she doesn’t retreat to her private balcony, but mixes with the crowd on the ground floor. It’s almost amusing how easy it is to go unnoticed, that even surrounded by hundreds of people who have lived in this city for all their lives, who have heard her speak countless times, seen her image captured a hundred times by a hundred different painters, she can slip by with only a handful of changes. No crown, no crimson armour, and her hair cropped short to her shoulders, where all of it is now brown. There’s a thrill in the anonymity, one only intensified by her anticipation.

Still, there’s a moment in the middle of the performance when Dorothea’s gaze sweeps over the crowd, lands on her and recognises her despite it all. She’s far too professional to falter, but she keeps their gazes locked while she hits the highest notes, and only turns away when she absolutely must.

If Dorothea did not have her already, it would have still been enough to steal her heart entirely.

There’s a passion in this performance that goes beyond words. Mournful yet joyous, a shift in tones that is untraceable as it bends, from one emotion to another, where the only constant is the change that is to come. Dorothea sings the final song alone, with no instruments or other singers to distract. Just a woman in a red dress, singing a farewell to a city that will not even recognise it as such until she is already gone.

Whatever happens, she won’t be forgotten. And while Dorothea may be the one with a penchant for dramatics, Edelgard can at least appreciate a decision like this. An opera singer turned soldier turned singer again, giving the best performance of her career before vanishing like smoke. That alone would fuel rumours for years to come, but to disappear in the same week the Emperor of Adrestria cast aside her crown? Edelgard can only imagine how absurd the gossip will be in Enbarr in the coming weeks.

She doesn’t envy her ministers.

Edelgard has barely knocked on the door to Dorothea’s change room before she is swept inside and into an embrace. She tenses on instinct, but Dorothea’s touch is familiar, and the scent of her perfume floods her from this close.

“You were... You may have seduced half the city like that.”” Edelgard says against her shoulder. Honesty seems easier here, with her face hidden from sight. Or maybe she is just caught up in the adrenaline of it all, and letting her mouth run faster than her mind can keep up with.

“Only half?” Dorothea says, teasingly. “And to think, I was only trying to seduce one woman.” She steps away, rests the back of her hand against Edelgard’s cheek. “My, my, how bold you are, the beautiful stranger who knocks on my door so late. Whatever will the Emperor think!”

Edelgard feels herself flush involuntarily, and she has to forcibly stop herself from hiding her face with her hand. “I don’t think you’ll ever stop teasing me.” She says.

“I don’t think you want me to stop.” Dorothea tells her. Edelgard almost argues, but there is a soft smile on Dorothea’s face, and her hand moves to run through Edelgard’s hair. Even when she had been the most powerful woman in Fódlan, tenderness like this had always broken through her barriers. She leans in closer instead, lets the last remaining shreds of tension melt away.

“I like your hair.” Dorothea says, softer now. “It’s very… well, it’s very you. I can’t think of a better way to describe it.”

“The white was too obvious.” Edelgard says. “And I remember you telling me I should mix things up, once in a while. Are you going to play with it all night?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

* * *

They escape in the dead of night. Both of their lives, all neatly packed up into a single carriage. Packing had been strangely easy, tossing away frivolities and all the trappings of royalty, and keeping only what she actually wants. It makes her feel lighter, leaving it all behind.

But there is still a bittersweet terror to be standing at the precipice of change, uncertain of where her life will go from here. This, leaving her crown and her duty behind for a taste of freedom, has been a mad dream of hers for years. The thing she promised herself in order to get through it all, the loss of her family, the war, the slow process of change afterwards. There is a potential here, endless and impossible. Edelgard has been a symbol for so long, a leader, a woman defined by her ideals more than her own self. It’s strange to be left adrift as just Edelgard. Nothing more.

Dorothea stirs beside her on the bench. There is more than enough room for her to have stayed inside the carriage itself, and yet she had insisted on remaining beside Edelgard as she drove. Her night has been long, and she has spent half of it performing. It’s little wonder she started dozing the moment they started moving.

She shouldn’t wake her. And yet.

“Dorothea.” She calls, lightly.

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure about this?”

Dorothea reaches down, takes Edelgard’s hand, and brings it to her lips.

“You’re sweet, Edie.” She tells her. “But I want to be here. With you.”

* * *

They talk while they travel. Make plans, discuss ideas, decide one thing only to change their minds a moment later. The first few days every idea that is passed between them is absurd. Run away to Almyra and become traveling merchants. Move to Fhirdiad and become street performers, move to Brigid and become fishermen. Silly, frivolous things, entertaining only in the fact that the are now possible.

Edelgard likes it when Dorothea takes the reins, letting her open up her journal and sketch things as a way to distract her hands while they talk. The carriage rumbles while they move, shaking her hand and making each line uneven, but Edelgard finds herself unbothered. She will have time to make better drawings, she thinks. Time to teach herself how to paint, even. Having the freedom to make art that doesn’t matter is a luxury she has not had in a long time.

She draws many things. The mountains they pass, the travellers they meet only for an instant before moving on. But her eye is always drawn back to her companion, and she draws her in a hundred different ways. None are as grand a scene as her performing in the opera, but there is a beauty to simplicity as well.

They stop in the early afternoon one day by a river, and Edelgard tries to capture how the sunlight dances off the surface of the water, how at home Dorothea seems to be in it, but she has only started the tentative first lines before Dorothea takes her by the arm and drags her in too.

The water is cold, and Edelgard will likely regret this once she has to leave the river and cope with her sodden clothes. But that all feels like background noise while Dorothea is holding her, laughing into her shoulder.

When her laughter trails off, Edelgard wraps her arms around Dorothea’s neck and pulls her down into a kiss, letting it linger and linger. Carving this moment into her mind, to remember whenever she needs it.

It’s a moment that feels unreal, even while she is in it. The Edelgard she had been just a few years ago, planning a revolution with little regard for her own place at the end of it, would never have believed it possible. The Edelgard she had been longer ago still, chained underground dreaming of a better world, would never have believed it either. That she could love and be loved in return, not as the Emperor, not as a symbol of change but just as a woman, that anyone would be willing to run away with her into a strange uncertain future.

Somehow, it’s all worth it, just to freeze in a river in wet clothes, just to be held by someone like Dorothea.

“We could go anywhere.” Edelgard says. “Be anyone. What do you want?”

“I had an idea.” Dorothea tells her. She speaks tentatively, but there is an honest passion in her eyes.

“Tell me.”

* * *

_They cause quite a stir in the town when they arrive. A former opera star from the capital, moving to a quiet town by the sea, drew attention from everyone who heard. That she was the same woman who had travelled through only a handful of months prior with her opera troupe, drew more attention still._

_She brought with her a young woman, a painter, serious but kind. They had met in the war, they said, and both had decided to leave the madness of the city behind, to try and heal some of the wounds left behind in the wake of the war by starting an orphanage._

_Although they eventually settled into a quiet life, their eventual wedding drew attention once more, with visitors from across the continent coming to attend._

_The painter slowly built up a following of her own, with her most famous piece, a portrait of her wife set against the landscape of the home they had built together, eventually being purchased by the newly elected leader of the united Fódlan, Lady Ordelia. It remained in her office for many years to come._

**Author's Note:**

> this might be a little bit rusty but i had to write it out before i drive people mad by endlessly rambling about the concept of edie & dorothea running away together lol


End file.
